Of Ropes and Branches

Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen. You know, the whole falling part. Guess I’ll just have to add that to my never-ending list of failures.

Oh don’t worry – it wasn’t like, high or anything. I’m perfectly fine. Fantastic, actually. Only two and a half feet. And the landing was kinda comfy to be honest. Lots of twigs. Leaves. A couple branches. Of course, one of these branches was particularly sharp and had its way with my shin. Blood and stuff. Hurray.

Anyways, here I am; lying on my side, fetal position, gasping for air, colour slowly seeping back into my vision. Little good that did though. My glasses had fallen off. Probably broken. Why, aren’t I just a marvel. Couldn’t even pick the right branch. Who knows, maybe the entire tree was a dud. Wouldn’t be surprised. And my neck’s sore. How peachy. I just love rope burn. Really. I do.

At least my knot hadn’t completely failed. You see, I practiced. Every day for thirteen days. Ha. Thirteen. Had that been my error you ask. Don’t be stupid. Just another pathetic superstition you people don’t actually take seriously and yet you kinda do anyways. You know what else is nothing but a dumb superstition? “Practice makes perfect”. Ha. Ha. Living (to some extent) proof right here. Myth. Busted. No matter how much, how long, how often you practice, there will be always, ALWAYS be something to screw it all over. I should probably get up. My parents used to tell me that all the time. “Get up! You’ll be late!” they’d yell. Used to. But I don’t feel like getting up yet. No, I’ll scout these trees in advance. Mark my next target before putting in the effort to stand up. Efficiency. Gotta love it.

Hmm… you thinking what I’m thinking? That willow, right over there, next to the stream – looks perfect. Doesn’t it?

If at first you don’t succeed – what the hell is that?

It’s a goddamn bunny rabbit. A hare. You know, the furry things with the floppy ears and stupid looking faces. This one’s just a tiny little squirt, but boy, was he ever booking it! Puny little limbs flailing about, shaking his pompom tail like some sort of crazed middle school cheerleader. Oh little bunny, why the panic?

Oh. That’s why.

It’s one of those orange doggy things. Fox. Nose close to the ground. Pursuing. This guy’s much more graceful.

Will you make it little bunny? I doubt it.

Yup, there it is – the slip up. A full-on summersault with a three hundred sixty degree twist. Good bye little bun –

…Or not. He’s still going. Faster.

Another trip, another fall. Another recovery. Faster!

This lump of fluff… I don’t understand! Even the fox seems amazed.

Incoming root! Jump little bunny! Like your life depends on it!

I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed anything so glorious my entire life. Stubby arms fully extended, ears completely flattened – who knew these mounds of fuzz could be so aerodynamic? Sketchy landing, but yet again, this little guy recovers, never looking back, never giving up, pulling through every trip, every fall, a stronger bunny than the one that fell.